Entwirren an den Nähten
by Dorminchu
Summary: Eren struggles to cope with the sheer magnitude of access the First King's legacy has thrust upon him. Historia offers him guidance, then something else entirely, leaving Eren free to decide if it's really worth holding on to false hope, anyway. [ch. 89-90, canon compliant to a point, eren/historia & eren/annie]


a/n: This is the longest one-shot I've done, and possibly the most upsetting SnK/AoT related piece I've worked on in a long time. There's violence and sex, both imagined and real, harm to children, talk of death, explicit language, all that sensational stuff. It's not dwelt upon for an unneccessary amount of time, but I do not brush anything aside. Also want to say that this is not an outwardly _sexual_ story, despite the presence of sex. Nor is it a very happy one. That's not to say there isn't hope, of course, but that hope must be _earned!_

* * *

 **I.**

* * *

The return back from Shiganshina is not the first instance the Scouting Regiment has risen triumphant from adversity, but it is the moment of truth that spawns into a historical victory. The Scouts are heroes among their people, finally recognised for their merit.

Now that Fritz has been dethroned and the stranglehold has been cut, Historia's in place as the rightful heir. Word is, she's currently working alongside the likes of Dhalis Zachary and Pixis in order to restore order amongst the Walls. With no Titans to apprehend or corrupt political bodies to topple, everything is coming together. For the first time since many can remember, there's a concrete future to look forward to.

Eren sees things…differently. All he can think is that he has many days yet to stagnate. Commander Hanji and Captain Levi can brush off his condition as a sign of his age, his immaturity and teenage arrogance, but he knows better.

He's _changing_ , yes. Not in a good way. A gaunt boy looks back at him from the mirror's surface through dark bangs, with weary green eyes and dark circles beneath.

He's started to get nosebleeds even without Shifting. The scars, the mark of his inhumanity, do not fade from his face but remain imprinted, thinner than a human hair and sickly grey. He thinks they may be growing clearer with each passing day, but it's such a gradual transformation he cannot be sure.

Sometimes he drifts off in waking-hours, or he's roused sharply in the middle of the night, and imagines the taste of flesh. Raw flesh, fresh off the bones, slick with blood, pliable against his teeth. More than once he entertains the feeling of his father's body splintering beneath his jaws, all bone and blood and sinew.

He doesn't want to vomit at the thought anymore. He wonders if that's normal, for something— _someone_ like him. Lately, he's started to think of himself as a _thing—_ it's a terrible habit he thought he'd kicked a long, long time ago—but perhaps he's right to think like that; what kind of sane person fantasises about eating another human, much less their own father? How many days does he have left before he becomes the beast humanity was so quick to brand him as?

Eren doesn't know. Maybe he'll never know, for sure. Maybe he's just becoming paranoid. Everyone has put their faith in him, and it's not as if they're entirely unwise to do so—he's come through before against men and Titans alike, countless adversities. He can do it again, surely.

He's beginning to think his whole decline, physical and psychological, started not too long after he discovered that journal in the basement of his house. The minute he became aware of what he was holding, he didn't want to let go; when Mikasa laid her hands upon the worn leather cover there had been an urge to take it from her. He'd wanted to hold the little book to his chest, pour over it long into the night 'til it came apart in his hands. Perhaps he would have done so, if Hanji or Levi would have let him alone.

Not that he needs a book, anyway. He can pour over the memories of the deceased in his own head for hours and hours if he so wishes. Sometimes it happens without trying. Like picking up a spoon or blurting out nonsense during his own tribunal, it's unconscious and humiliating and out of his control, leaves everyone staring, ready to question his sanity and stability. Only this time, Eren doesn't blame them.

More than anything, he's really starting to loathe this preconceived notion everyone around him seems to hold, that if he just recuperates, if he is watched carefully, if he is dissected and scrutinized, he will turn out fine, somehow. He wishes that someone, anyone, would just come out and say what they're really thinking.

* * *

 **II.**

It's a small surprise when Eren shows up at her door, just a day or so after the initial tribunal. He's by himself, which is suspicious on its own. Captain Levi would never let him go anywhere unattended. She wonders if he's watching from a far-off corner of the hall and keeps her focus where it belongs: on the boy in front of her.

"I was wondering if you could help me," Eren starts to say, and then pauses upon becoming aware of the nearest guard's attention, fixed on him. Historia throws said guard a look to indicate there's no trouble, and he stands down, albeit grudgingly. But he doesn't take his eyes away from Eren.

"There's no need for titles when you are with me, Eren," Historia says coolly. "But I would prefer you look me in the eye."

He does so without delay. "Y-your Majes—'Storia. I wasn't sure who to turn to. But then I thought, you're not—not close enough, to care too much or hold back when it comes to my well-being, and that's what matters."

She raises her eyebrows. "What is your concern?"

Her no-nonsense tone seems to snap him out of his daze. He straightens up, undeterred. "I've been having flashes, Your Majesty. Dreams, memories, I'm not—sure, how to describe them to you. They've been getting worse, over the past week or so. I don't know what is triggering it, but I think—"

Historia sighs, holding up a hand. "Come inside. We should talk where we won't be interrupted."

Eren balks, like he hadn't expected the plan to go through. She huffs, grabs him by the wrist like he's a mystified child. Once the door is closed behind them, the feeling in the air changes from something solemn to serious, urgent.

"Is this about the First King?" is her first question. "Or the Coordinate?"

"It's really more about the King, to be honest with you. Your Majesty," he adds quickly. Her title is getting a little tedious coming from him, but at least he is treating this situation seriously. She's not about to correct him every time. "It's a lot more complicated than that, though. The Coordinate is actually like—"

"You may spare me the details," she says, weary of observing him struggle. "Where do I fit into your plan?"

"I don't know how to make them stop. And you're a Reiss. You can—can get inside my head, can't you?"

Eren is clearly unsettled. But he is also pure in his desolation, his honesty just as unflinching as it has ever been. She can respect that, because she remembers all-too well how it is to feel empty and unheard by everyone around her. And she remembers, too, that he was there to listen when Ymir was not.

"I'm rather busy, as you might have figured," Historia says at last. She may as well be honest with the boy.

"Oh! I don't want to get in your way," Eren responds, a little too quickly, as though he's been dreading that answer. She's can't decide if she's amused or exasperated with him; after all, she didn't say _no._

"It's of little inconvenience to me," she replies formally. "Commander Irvin isn't around to hold me back, nor is Captain Levi. I'm sure a negotiation can be made. We can even meet right here, if you'd like."

He smiles for what she imagines is the first time in weeks. "A-are you sure?"

Historia frowns. "I am…but we'll have to figure out a time, if you're serious about this. And you have to be responsible. If I set a date, I expect you to show up."

It's as though a great burden has been lifted from Eren's shoulders. Instantly, he is standing straighter, and life returns in his eyes. "It's a deal, Your Highness."

 _"Historia,"_ she says, of half-a-mind to command him proper. She can tell Eren isn't listening too closely, unable to be swayed from relief.

"Right, er—Historia," he says, a little sheepish. Historia decides that a little progress is better than none. She sighs.

"I wasn't really anticipating any visitors, so I won't be able to help you this minute. You can go, for now. I'll send word when I have more information."

* * *

 **III.**

In the beginning, Eren worries that the arrangement is too risky—but more pressingly, that it's an unkeepable secret. He's agitated when Commander Hanji brings it up in front of Captain Levi; and while Hanji sounds pleased that Eren is attempting to figure out a better means of dealing with his condition, Levi just stares as though she has pronounced the boy a veritable death sentence and never says a word. Perhaps there's nothing to be said, when his eyes already bore into Eren like knives, yet there's no animosity.

* * *

Within a day or two, word gets around. Eren finds himself resigned to this reality—what point is there in resisting the aid of a friend? Armin and Mikasa come visit him the moment they're sure he is available, and seeing as the Scouts don't really have much in the matter of anything _pressing_ to contend with, the three of them quickly find time to convene. Armin brings his journal, just in case Eren has a spell or remembers something crucial. He's got it all down in sections, subsections, with dates and names, little blurbs that are barely decipherable. It's little things like this, Eren thinks, that serve to remind him of his own, prevalent sense of disconnection from the rest of the Scouts, his inhumanity no longer demonstrated by the threat of physical violence or an untimely Shift, but from profundity.

"Isn't she of royal blood?" Armin suggests, in regards to Historia. Eren stares at him, not fully understanding the question. Armin becomes pensive. "Well, she's—is she a Marley, or an Eldian?"

"Eldian," Eren corrects him idly. Armin exchanges a subtle look with Mikasa that Eren notices, but does not acknowledge.

"Yes, well," says Armin slowly, "I'm not sure it's wise to put your faith entirely in a single person, even one of us, and especially not someone as powerful as the Queen. You don't know what her own motives are in this situation."

"What makes you say that, Armin?" Eren asks. He supposes there's no harm in playing along, if it makes Armin feel better. Armin, conversely, seems to have caught on to where the conversation is heading. He scowls, the look rather ineffectual on his fresher face, yet his words, by contrast, are far more sharp:

"Because, if what you've told me is true, you are in possession of the very thing our enemy has worked so hard to keep from us. You're living proof that all the stuff in my grandfather's books isn't just—just falsified, or a ruse put into circulation by the government! Do you honestly think that you're going to be much safer in the hands of the same family that, by your own account, swore to keep all of humanity in the dark for the sake of an age-old ideology? What reason does she have to treat you any differently than your father?"

"Because I'm _not_ my father," Eren says coolly. "Nor is Historia hers."

Armin groans a little. "You're just evading my questions, now. This isn't us getting anywhere."

Throughout the discussion, Mikasa's been standing by Armin's side in silence. It's only when Eren looks at her that she speaks. "We just want to help you get through whatever you're dealing with, Eren. But if you won't let us in, then we can't do anything." Though her tone is soft, her eyes harden; _listen to me, I'm your family_. Eren realises he's smiling. No. It's more like a smirk. Does she really think she has any business intimidating him anymore?

Even in his state of apathy, he can't help but feel a little shame at the way he's carrying on. Mikasa glowers at a grimy spot on the wall, a few inches above Eren's head. She won't start a diatribe in front of Armin.

Armin, for his part, is much more composed. He sighs before addressing Eren again: "Then tell me this: don't you think that it's a _little_ bit dangerous, giving any one person total control over you?"

"That's not what I'm doing."

These days, Armin's patience is worn thin; Eren knows he ought not to provoke him like this, but more often, he finds himself struggling to relate to the world around him. "For God's sake, Eren! You're assuming Historia is going to act honourably at all times, even in a scenario where she's not being watched and there's no one around to keep an eye on you! Suppose she refuses to allow anyone in the room with you? Suppose she starts hushing you or others up when it becomes inconvenient?"

Eren just stares at Armin, incredulous. "I'm going to meet up with her because she can help me understand this power."

Armin looks to Mikasa for help. She turns her eyes on Eren, and says, matter-of-factly:

"If I hear that you are skipping one of these meetings, I'll stop whatever I am doing and drag you there myself."

Armin doesn't look very happy about this resolution, but he doesn't argue the point. He takes a deep breath and sighs, looking Eren dead in the eye: "Then at least think about what you're doing, here, and be careful who you put your trust in. You're the only one who knows what's best for yourself."

Mikasa offers him a rare half-smile. "We're going to see the ocean with Armin, soon. You have to hold on."

 _I've already seen it,_ Eren wants to say. He wants to shout to the sky, beyond these cell walls. _I've seen everything there is to see. You don't know what you're dealing with, when you talk to me. You need to be there for Armin._

But he smiles in return, wanly. "All right, Mikasa."

She can always tell when he's lying. She looks almost disappointed, and frustrated, like she wants to reach over and shake some sense into him, demand a proper answer. It's funny when he thinks about it, his sister, the unflappable one, losing her temper with _him_.

It's so funny that he starts to laugh. More of a snicker than anything, but there's no humour in the sound, only desolation, the sort of sentiment that comes from reaching a locked door, only to realise it's just an intricate façade, painted on the wall. Once he starts laughing, he can't seem to stop. Mikasa is the first to back away. There's fear in her dark eyes that does not go unnoticed by him. Nor by Armin, who takes Mikasa's hand, gently ushering her out. Eren is still laughing, but it slowly becomes more hushed, like grief.

The door closes, and he is alone at last. His head drops to his knees and he quivers. A quiet, dry sob escapes his throat.

He's so tired.

* * *

 **IV.**

Days creep by without a single word back from the Queen. Eren tells himself, _you have to hold on. There is a way to make this stop. There is a way to survive. You've come this far. You have to survive._

When the day comes, an entire week after his initial conversation with her, Eren feels no relief. These days he doesn't feel much of anything, come to think of it. He just sort of exists, a soul in a shell, taking up space in the cell he occupies, neither optimistic nor praying for death.

"Oi, brat," says Levi. "The Queen wants to see you this afternoon."

Eren hardly reacts, at first. He's merely in shock. Or in denial. This is his life, now. What good can come of changing the inevitable?

"You've got about an hour," says Levi without waiting for an answer. "Which is good for you, 'cos you look like shit. You aren't going anywhere like that on my watch, not until you make yourself presentable." The footsteps retreat. "You got ten minutes," says Levi, "before I come in there and drag you out onto the grounds so we can have a squad hose your arse off. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," says Eren quietly. The door closes.

Listless, he gets to his feet, going through the motions until he can at least pretend he's going to pass the Captain's scrutiny. He allows himself to be led, losing count of how many steps it takes—into the sunlight, into the cramped carriage—'til they are in the Royal District again, out of the carriage and traversing the sprawling streets with busy folk who pay him no mind, in the heart of the city. Now they are indoors, walking the halls in silence, now finally at the Queen's door. Beneath the military jacket, Eren knows he must be underdressed. The guards watch Levi curiously.

Feeling uneasy, Eren raises a hand and knocks. Then stands back and waits, scowling at the pretty door in front of him. It opens not a minute later.

"You're early," Historia says, and bids him entry. Levi trails afterward without waiting to be acknowledged. Eren feels something besides exhaustion or apathy for the first time in several days—he's annoyed, because for God's sake, it's not like he's going to Shift accidentally and kill half the royals, and why does he need to be watched when there are guards, anyways?

But Eren holds his tongue and doesn't press matters. To distract himself, he looks around the room. It's a lovely place, he supposes, with a large window at the wall opposite set by heavy curtains, a nice, soft-looking bed. There's a writing desk and chair in the corner, a bookcase. Not much else, which is kind of surprising, though Eren's not sure what he was expecting, really.

"And you're lucky, this time," Historia continues. "We have a little over an hour to discuss your—condition."

He wishes she wouldn't talk like that. It reminds him of Hanji.

Historia goes quiet, surveying him critically. He's getting used to that look. "Are you going to say something?"

Being morose is evidently going to get him nowhere. This is what he wanted, he reminds himself, to speak to someone who _can_ help him. So he takes a breath—he can be brave—and says: "Hist—Your Honour—it's not the fact that these memories are occurring that troubles me, but there are so many—so many _people,_ inside my head. And they all have something to say."

She nods. "Go on."

He recalls something else. He's not sure he wants to discuss it, and certainly not in front of Levi, but he looks her straight in the eye. "During the ceremony, after the tribunal, when I—I touched your hand, I thought I saw…." He clams up. Before Historia can ask more, he spits it out: "I thought I saw them. Your family, I mean. It was the night my father killed your half-sister and her siblings. And I've—seen that before, but it was always from my father's perspective, but this time I was in her head—Frieda's—instead of his."

Already he is shaken by the admission. He doubts Historia would like to be reminded of his father's past transgressions against her family, even if they've cast her aside and tried to use her—it's still family. He feels sick, too small in this quiet room. Historia looks uneasy, too, but only for a moment.

"I see," she says. "Why do you think that happened?"

Eren tries to recover his nerve. "I think it's got something to do with—this is gonna sound mad, but I think—it was because of you, or your connection to her. Like—when you touched me, you forced me to remember something. A-and I had this thought, that if I talked to you again, if you touched me again, I could get some answers?"

He's babbling. He feels like he's wasting her time. He feels like a fool. But Historia nods, her expression solemn.

"Do you remember how my father helped you to relive your memories? In the chamber?"

Eren's shudder is visceral. "Yes." He wishes she did not mention it at all, and especially hates that she chose to describe the experience as _help._

Something in her eyes softens. "I'm not sure how else I can reach you. It's not as if Father left me much to work with. But I don't think I'll have to take you anywhere special, this time." She's almost cautious. "At the very least, you'll have to remove your shirt."

It's said without a trace of ill-intention, but Eren feels weirdly self-conscious.

"You may stay if you want," Historia says, addressing Levi. Levi doesn't speak, just regards her coolly. Eren had nearly forgotten he was there. She turns back to Eren. "Lie face-down on the bed, when you're ready."

"Erm," he says.

"Am I going to have to start commanding you?" she asks dryly.

Eren scoffs, rankled, and tugs his shirt over his head. He lies down on the bed, feeling far more bare than not.

"I'm not sure how much of _your_ mind I'll be able to access," she warns him. "Nor am I sure how far we'll be able to go."

Eren shivers. "Just get it over with."

"As you wish."

Her hand is small and surprisingly cool on his naked body. For a moment, nothing happens. He frowns, thinking it to be a rather anti-climactic reaction—

* * *

—but then it _hits_. It hits him so hard he can't breathe, he forgets his name, forgets his purpose, and he knows only that he is drifting in and out of minds, of memories and emotions—too fast to really comprehend, more of a subconscious assault, and some of them are far more recent than others—

* * *

 _—there is a girl, small, covered in dirt and naked, dark-haired with piercing green eyes like his; she's crying as a group of dogs sniff at her, then start to dig in with teeth, and as she starts to scream like hell the man observing takes a practised drag of his cigarette, emotionless—_

* * *

 _—a boy alone in a forest at midnight, clutching what little remains of his father's leg—_

* * *

 _—no, take another look and it's his father in the flesh—Grisha Jaeger, and he's younger than Eren has ever seen him, in a darkened room lit by candlelight, as he turns from the book in his hands to the small crowd around him, proclaims that they, each and every one of them, are Eldians, children of Ymir, and the room roars with pride; a woman catches Grisha's eye in the crowd, grins. They are each caught up in the moment as much as one another, and the man meets her eye with nothing short of exhilaration—_

* * *

 _—_ you're just a pack of animals _, Eren is screaming, as he drives a knife into the throat of Mikasa's would-be kidnapper—_

* * *

 _—_ but they were pickin' on Armin again! _—Eren insists as his mother just looks at him with that kind of exasperation that can only come from a parent and says—_ it doesn't matter who started what, _says his mother sternly,_ you have to think about how you're going to protect her, for a change _,_ you're not a child anymore, you'll be a young man soon enough _—and he groans—_ muuum, I know _—and Mikasa says nothing as always—but wait, that's—that's not how it happened, he was outside wasn't he?—was he?—he doesn't remember—trying to hold on but it's already slipping through his fingers—_

* * *

 _—the woman from before, the one from the secret gathering with his father—her name is Dina (Fritz? the name's important and before he can think why it's already gone, just a name, a harmless syllable, nothing more) and she's—she's holding a baby, and his father—Grisha—is happier than Eren can remember seeing him before, it's almost revolting—and Dina says—he's beautiful, isn't he?—and Grisha just laughs, kissing the crown of her head—_

* * *

 _—in shiganshina_ — _running against a hopeless current_ — _and soon_ _his mother will be eaten alive_ — _he looks upon the Titan that killed Karla Jaeger and—and he doesn't want it to make sense but he understands_ , _after all these years_ — _and blood pours out of the mouth of his mother like she was filled to the brim with it and no matter how much he fights to turn his head he can't—look—_ away _—_

* * *

—and he screams into the void, unable to hear himself—but he can't turn it off, it's all in his head but it's _not_ his head and it's wrong it's wrong it's so wrong—like tearing himself free of the Titan's shell, he wills himself to cut away from the flood of imagery but he's stayed too long, and it's hard to resist now that he's so deeply entrenched withi—

* * *

—he's on the bed, sheened in sweat, shrinking away from an imagined presence.

"Eren!" Historia says sharply, or maybe it's the Captain who spoke. Eren gasps and doesn't recognise his own voice, nor the physical sensation of his body. Someone _—Historia?—_ is grabbing him by the shoulder, pushing him up and around so he is forced to open his eyes.

"What happened?" she asks him. "What did you see?" He opens his mouth. Words won't come to him. "Eren," she says, not so patient this time.

"I—I don't know. My father, and myself. And others. A lot of people I didn't recognise."

"What did they do?"

"I dunno. My dad was talking to another woman. It wasn't my mum. I think she was—I think they were…." _Married?_

He feels like he's said enough already. Levi's eyes are on him and him alone. Likewise, Historia studies him carefully.

"Did you get her name? The woman's name?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know." He feels like that was the wrong memory to share, but he's not sure what is safe and what is not, here. "But—I saw other things. I don't—I don't know, how to explain it right now. I'm sorry."

Historia looks almost disappointed. But she says: "That's all right. There's no need to worry about how I'll feel. These are _your_ memories. Nobody can change the past, so I will not fault you for what you see." He swallows hard. It's easy for her to say that. "Do you want to stop here, for to-day?" she asks, suddenly and uncharacteristically sober.

He looks down at himself. He's a mess. "N-no. Just give me a moment."

She relents. "No need to worry. It's only been a few minutes."

Only a few minutes? Eren feels sick. He lies back on the bed and emits a tiny groan.

* * *

 **V.**

Their meetings fluctuate in terms of consistency. Sometimes Eren may see her once or twice a week. Other times he won't see her for days at a time. Once, when he was lucky, he got to see her twice as long, because, according to her, she was waiting for word back on some business, and wasn't as though she could make the day go any faster.

He cannot escape the feeling of exhaustion wherever he goes, no matter how much he sleeps. Yet there is an intangible weight in his belly like lead, grounding him to the present. He just wants to sleep without dreams, without thought. He wants to sleep for as long as it takes to process what is happening to him and Armin.

He begins to simultaneously dread and live for each day he will see Historia again. He hardly eats, hardly sleeps, floating from day to day in a haze that somewhat resembles euphoria. Nothing seems to affect him as much as it used to. Living is not as vibrant.

* * *

They aren't supposed to have another expedition for at least a month. It's only been—a little over a week, since Shiganshina was won. _Shit._ He's losing touch.

That aside, he's due for another meeting with Armin and Mikasa. This time, he comes to them, not underground but above it, in some nameless safe-house at a lonely outpost, somewhere on the territory of Wall Rose—Maria?—he isn't sure, for a moment, afraid to ask. He likes staying indoors more than he used to. Life is not as overwhelming. But it feels better not to talk in the confines of a cell. It's noisy out here in the real world, and it'll take some getting used to, but as long he is with his friends, that's all that matters.

"I think I'm getting better," Eren says. It's innocent enough.

"Oh?" Armin turns from his notebook, a look of surprise on his features. "That's good."

"Yeah…" Eren pauses, reflecting. It is good. It's been so long since he'd something to look forward to. When destined to die, he'd started to convince himself that getting outside the walls was never going to happen—but never is happening now, and shouldn't victory feel a lot more…well, victorious? Why does he feel so empty?

"I'm glad you're here," Eren admits. "I'm glad you're all alive."

Mikasa smiles a soft smile. "We're glad you're alive, too."

"It's Historia you 'oughta be thanking," Eren says, brushing the sentiment aside. "She's done wonders on me."

Armin frowns. "I understand that. But the Queen's busy, just like you, Eren. It's not as if she can put whatever business she's got on hold for any one of us."

"I know you don't trust her 'cos she's a Reiss," Eren says sharply, frustrated that Armin, clever as he is, does not see the simplicity of the plan, "but she's able to—to help me control these flashes. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Armin's jaw works like he's chewing his words.

"It is. But who's to say she couldn't—I don't know, alter your memories, or make you believe anything she pleases? You couldn't fight back."

"You're being ridiculous," Eren says. He doesn't want to talk anymore if they're just gonna go in circles.

"Look, Eren, we can't hold you down and drug you every night you force yourself to stay awake. You're not the only one that has nightmares." There's something oddly callous about Armin's choice of words; it almost feels like something has changed between this moment and the last. "You think I like having to deal with Bertholdt's—?" On the mention of the name, Armin's face turns pale, his eyes glazed. Breathing shallowly, he starts to tremble. Then he heaves a little, looks like he's about to be sick, clapping a hand to his mouth. Mikasa grabs his arm.

Eren's less sympathetic. "Yeah. I don't expect anyone to keep up with the fuckin' mess my head's in right now."

He's touched a nerve. Armin glares at him.

"What?" Eren's cognisant enough to be belligerent. "You want to say something? Say it."

"That's enough, Eren," Mikasa says sternly. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive, even if you're going to be childish." Eren snorts. She ignores him. "Armin," she says. "We're here to talk to Eren."

Armin swallows hard, still shaken. "Remember what I told you? You're the only one that can decide what is right for you."

Something in his tone, his expression, it sets Eren off. A volatile anger overcomes him, one that he hasn't felt in months, not since Reiner's betrayal.

"BUT _YOU_ DON'T KNOW, EITHER!" Eren's shouting at him. "How the hell can I expect anyone to understand what I see? You think I just watch a bunch of Reiss people eat each other in the name of God?" He cackles, the sound harsh, bordering on hysteria. "Fuck! We've BOTH eaten people by now! Or did you forget about that part? D'you think Bertholdt wanted to die the way he did? Did you know that he called out to us? To Reiner, and Annie? He begged us to save him while you—"

"Stop it, Eren!" Mikasa barks, but it's like a valve has been turned and the words just spill out of him like flies from a corpse. He's on his feet, stalking the length of the tiny cabin like an animal.

"You're lucky. You dunno how lucky you are, not to—to have to listen to all these—because it's not just one set of memories, anymore—it's fuckin' ten at once, or—it's worse, when I'm alone, or when I sleep. D'you know what's on the other side of the Walls? That's where dad came from, right? Did you know we had an AUNT, Mikasa?"

Armin is silent, appalled. Mostly he looks like he's gonna be sick. Mikasa's eyes are bright. She looks helpless. Eren can't stand to look at her for long. His voice is shaking with rage, and anguish, desperation for someone to hear him.

"She had a name, you know. Faye. Faye Yeager—she was my dad's sister, and she got torn apart by dogs because if they didn't kill her, she'd probably tell someone about the Marlian officer who raped her. That's what we have to look forward to. Those are the sort of people waiting for us on the other side of the Walls. They're no better than our scum, but they think we're worse just because we were born inside this fucking prison. They don't give a damn about—about what's right, or if we're fighting amongst ourselves, it's just a load of—"

His voice cracks. He can't go on. He knows he has to.

"It's not one person's life, I have to live," he says hoarsely. "It's watching myself kill my dad, and wondering when it'll become you, or Mikasa, and if there'll come a day when I'm not gonna be able to control myself—what am I supposed to say when I don't remember what I talked about five minutes ago? Maybe I can't BE fixed, did you ever think of that? Maybe the only way I can be helped is if someone's controlling me. But you don't want to hear it. No one wants to hear it."

He's breathing heavily. Mikasa shivers. Armin is pale. Eren, too tired for anger, returns to regret.

* * *

 **VI.**

On the seventh session, laying face-up on the bed, he tells Historia: "I'm glad you volunteered to get me through this."

She looks at him funny. "You were the one that came to me. Have you forgotten?"

He grins. "No. I'm just—glad it's you, I guess."

The second it's out of his mouth, he realises he's gone too far. Historia blinks as though taken aback, and says: "Oh." She clears her throat. "That's very kind of you," she says quietly, looking away.

He gets the feeling what he said means a lot more to her than just _kindness_. He frowns. "Just 'cos you're helping me through this—these memories, it doesn't mean we're anything close, or…"

She turns her head towards him, her skin and hair offset by the colour of the afternoon sun, and smiles in a way that makes him shiver. "I understand."

* * *

As his condition improves, Levi stops tailing him on his sessions with Historia. The memories Eren experiences are changing, too. They come less and less when he's awake, and more-so in sleep, but when they do, they are unpredictable…

* * *

—if you want to save your friends, if you want to see the outside world _—pressing the needle to the boy's arm—his own arm—as he watches himself shudder, defeated—_ then you must master this power _—_

* * *

 _—a girl with light hair squirms in the lap of her sister, who laughs and admonishes—_ if you're going to be a proper lady, you have to work on your posture, Historia _—and the girl pouts—_ but I'm not like you _—and something changes in the older girl's eyes, like regret—_

* * *

—but father, what about the outside world? _—this memory, he doesn't recognise at all, but the people are Reiss, he knows, Uri and Rod—Historia's father!—and their sentiment is almost disconcertingly similar to his own predicament—the man turns, the two boys step back in terror at the sight of a stranger in their father's skin, it's really the eyes, the eyes are devoid of life like glass marbles in a corpse's head—_

* * *

 _—and all too often, Eren finds himself struggling against the current_ _until he can struggle no more, lets it pull him down low lower he's going to drown but that's all right—_

—he always wakes up in the end. After all, Historia would never let him drown.

* * *

These days, he's staying in the capital for ease-of-access on part of Hanji and Historia, in a small cell not unlike the one in the Regiment's HQ or a Military Police dungeon. It's cleaner, though. And there's only one guard. He has a bed, simple meals. It could be worse, he supposes.

Mikasa and Armin haven't been down to see him in a while. They must be busy. With what, Eren can't imagine.

* * *

There are some things he wants to forget. There are others he's afraid to let go of.

* * *

—are you all right, Jaeger? _—he'd nearly fallen into the river, and she's offering a hand. Grinning, he takes it—_ fine, thanks! _—and now that he's paying attention, he notices how Annie seems to realise her mistake, but it's too late to take back—_

* * *

 _—_ I've failed my duty as a Warrior, _says Annie, with all the certainty of a war criminal staring down the barrel of a rifle, and Eren can't stand the silence, the way she averts her eyes like she's nervous—_

* * *

 _—she's actually kind of pretty when she smiles—even when she's being a hardarse—and he knows if he lets that slip she'll kick him—but it's nice, having a little secret like that to himself, something he can hold over her, even if it's silly and inconsequential—_

* * *

 _—the setting is vague, they're clad in military jackets but their insignia remains insignificant_ _—maybe this is graduation night, he can't discern, and what matters is that she's in his arms, and she needs this_ _—_ you don't have to let go, yet, _he says, breathing her in—and she scoffs, a fist curling in his shirt, at the space between his shoulders—_ shut up, Jaeger _—and he runs his hands up her back and she's burrowing into his chest, and for a minute, everything is okay—_

* * *

 _—_ so you're all talk _—he says, feeling much braver at the way she goes quiet, and her eyes are wide and…shit, is she blushing?—and then she snaps back into her façade, but her eyes flash in a way that is genuine and she growls—_ say that again, Jaeger, and see what happens _—_

 _—_ only if you make good on your side of the bargain _—he teases, and she looks pissed, but somehow, he isn't as afraid of her as he used to be—_ I thought you were gonna teach me how to talk to girls _—_

 _—she looks just as surprised as he feels, seeing actual emotion on her face, and then she says, bluntly—_ you remember that _—no inflection, it's not even a question, she's stunned—but then she's smirking in a way that makes all the little hairs on the back of his neck bristle, and he's afraid because it's not a purely bad sensation and when their eyes meet again, he swears his heart just jumped into his throat—_

* * *

"Do you miss her?" Historia asks quietly, during the ninth session.

Eren tenses up. "Miss who?"

"Annie. You miss her. And you're scared of what will happen if she comes back."

Historia is matter-of-fact, but he reckons there's something almost accusatory about the way she speaks. Eren feels trapped. "You don't know what you're talking about—"

Historia smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She bores into him like Levi did. "That's all right. I don't envy you. At least I can be sure Ymir isn't coming back. Annie's just biding her time."

"Stay out of my head," he says defensively.

She sneers. He hates the look, but he hates it even more on her face. "Then stop coming back. I could just as well tell your Captain that these memories are becoming too much for you to handle. I'd rather not, though." She approaches him. "You were the only one who really tried to get through to me," she murmurs, almost wistful. "Ymir, too. Do you know that?"

It's the first time he's heard her mention Ymir since Reiner handed over that letter. Eren realises he's trembling and doesn't know why. Historia frowns, cups his face in both hands. "But Ymir is gone. I have to accept it. It wasn't easy, of course, but I've moved on."

His eyes wrench shut. "Historia," he says harshly. He isn't sure what he'll do if he stays. He isn't sure he wants to find out.

"I want you to know that I appreciated what you've done for me," she tells him, and he can smell her hair, her skin, some weird fragrance, soap that the opulent use. "I want to return the favour, if you'll let me."

He stares and stares for such a length of time that he half-wonders if he's drifting into another memory. "What's the matter with you?" he asks finally, quiet not from self-control but exhaustion.

"Nothing, really. I can give you what you need."

His incredulity turns into repulsion. "Shut up," he growls. "Just shut up. You don't know shit about me."

Historia's eyes are cold. "Do you think you're the only one who's ever loved someone?" She laughs. "You really are obstinate."

He stands up sharply. He's heard enough. He's not going to play along with her, if that's what she wants.

"Where do you think you're going?" she inquires.

His laughter is hard, venomous. "Why d'you care?"

"You're my responsibility, Eren. Your sacrifice—your burden, whatever you want to call it—it makes you very important to the survival of mankind. I can't let you hurt yourself."

"You don't own me, either! What are you gonna do if I try to leave, chain me to the wall again?"

Historia sighs. "I am not my father, Eren. I won't turn against you when you are an inconvenience."

He snorts. "But you're all right with using me for your own benefit, is that it?"

Historia's eyes flash in anger. "I didn't have to set aside time for your benefit. I could have easily let you rot alone in a cell, with no-one to keep you company but your own thoughts. And I can arrange for that, if you're going to continue to give me further evidence of your mental instability."

"SO WHAT?" he roars to the empty room. "I _AM_ A VESSEL, and YOU'RE the only one who will listen to me! And—shit, even if it WAS that simple, and I go mad in the end, even if they have to take me out back and fuckin' shoot me—it's never gonna happen, is it? I'm too fuckin' important to shoot. I _have_ to live." His words are tinged with desperation more than anger. "See, I just have to tell someone about this, and it'll be all right, as long as I can…"

His voice breaks, as does his resolve. He bites his tongue just short of drawing blood.

"As long as you can what, Eren?" She's coming up behind him.

"I want…" His voice is a rasp. He clears his throat, though it hardly helps. "I want to learn to control this power. I want to be human again. It's never gonna—"

He stops talking. His eyes turn glossy, staring intently at the window. He's not in this room anymore. The second she touches him, he lets out a soft cry, pressing his head in his hands. He squeezes like he's trying to crush his own face.

 _"Fuck,"_ he whimpers, his body sharp with agonised tension, words muffled. "I can't—do this right now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…."

She takes his hands away, and he shudders. But all she does is bring his arms down to his sides. "I'm here for you," she says quietly. "You're not alone."

He sags against her tiny frame, does not speak.

* * *

 **VII.**

He thinks about what Historia has said long after he leaves, and all night.

And the next morning, as the sun is rising, Eren comes to the Queen's summons, exhausted from lack of sleep. This time, there are no guards to watch him as she opens the door before he can knock. This time, he realises with a sharp swoop in his stomach, she's still wearing her nightdress. This time, he speaks first: "Do whatever you want with me."

Historia pauses. Frowns. "Why?"

"Why not?" He lacks inflection. She grabs his head and pulls him up, snapping into a natural order.

"Don't be an arse," she says harshly. "I haven't the time for it."

"I'm very tired, Your Majesty," he says into her palm. "And I don't want to fight this anymore, so." He exhales. His breath is warm. "I s'pose what I'm saying here is that I am yours to command."

Historia looks at him a long moment. Then she takes his wrist, guides him in the room. She shuts the door, does not turn around.

"You will not speak unless you are spoken to. You will not touch me unless I ask for it, nor are you to touch yourself without permission."

Eren just nods, and then remembers she can't see. "Yeah."

She looks him over. "Strip," she says, and watches as he does it with all the fascination of a medical procedural. Her expression never changes, even when he is naked. He can't bring himself to look directly at her, so he glances around the room. The curtains are already drawn.

"Get on your knees," she says, a little softer, taking a seat on the chair near the writing-desk and hiking up her nightdress.

It feels like something is finally breaking inside of him; a cathartic kind of sacrilege that gives way to something carnal. He feels terrible, fucking terrible, but he doesn't want to stop because it's better than nothing. Anything is better than nothing if Annie's not coming back.

He swallows. Pushes her slender legs aside. Her skin is warm. It'll feel better, he thinks, if he doesn't let himself dwell.

Historia hardly bats an eye. "Use your mouth," she coaxes, parting herself with a couple fingers. "Slowly."

He sinks forth, breathing her in. Historia gasps softly. It's been quite a while for him. He wonders how long she has gone without being touched. He wonders if she thinks of Ymir the same way he tries not to think of—

 _Stop_.

And he kisses her, slow and steady. Then he's a little more forceful. Parts his mouth against her flesh and suddenly she's panting, pulling him inward until she's all he can taste. Losing himself in the simple pleasure of heat and reactivity, he feels whole again—or close to it.

"More," she hisses, and her legs curl around his shoulders. Eren's grasp on her turns rough. All his kisses are laced with teeth. Historia mewls, and he's moaning, too, as she grabs his head and starts grinding against him.

He doesn't know how long it is before she comes, but he's dizzy when she releases him, and he pulls away, tries to wipe his mouth but she stops him with one dainty foot.

"No," she says, breathless but severe. "Let me see you." He feels far more exposed than not when he looks at her. She's flushed all-over, but she doesn't smile. "Do that again, and I won't let you come," she says darkly.

Eren shudders weakly. It's been so long since he's allowed himself to think about this stuff, and it feels more like a dream that never happened.

"I'll let you have another chance," Historia says, stroking herself prominently, then offering her hand to him. He takes her fingers into his mouth without really thinking about it, and she sighs: "Good boy."

Eren shudders again.

* * *

Memories are not the only reason he returns to see the Queen. It's probably not the only reason she keeps calling him back, either. Sometimes she just needs a pleasant diversion, something to take the edge off her busier days. She lets him get off after—at a good distance—and that's it.

It's a different act without connection, like tuning a machine. She seems to enjoy it, though, and she's still helping him through the memories regardless of whether or not she wants something extra in return, so he won't complain.

Eren's had enough people die by now that he knows better than to hold onto hope for anyone, even Annie. What if they did manage to break her out? Even if she was alive and unharmed, she would never go along with them. She's an awful liar, but he would sooner die than see her hurt again. He wonders what she meant when she said she'd failed to become a Warrior. But Reiner and Bertholdt spoke of the same thing while he was in their captivity, Eren reasons. Perhaps the answer has been staring him in the face all this time.

Maybe he's bitter. Maybe he doesn't want to care anymore, maybe he's decided that caring is only gonna make him feel like shit, and caring for someone like Annie will hurt her most of all, in the end. Maybe he wants her to stay in the crystal—not out of spite or selfish motivation, but because nothing will touch her, there.

He tells himself this until he believes it.

* * *

 **VIII.**

On the fifteenth meeting, he knows it's going to be different when she starts with the words: "I want to try something."

He raises his eyebrows.

"First, you'll need to undress."

It's not exactly a secret that Eren's been dreading/anticipating this. This—her, the room, his cell, all of it—has started to become familiar, though it's less like familiarity and more like routine. She's proven herself to be unpredictable. To-day will be no different. Still, he obeys her without pause.

Historia gestures to the writing-desk and chair again. "Sit."

Feeling stupid, he takes a seat. He's initially confused as she rifles through his discarded clothes, then realises with a jolt that she's got his belt coiled around her hand like rope. Now, despite their disparity in height, she looms over him.

"I'm going to restrain you, first. And then I'm going to ride you. If I think you're good enough, I'll let you go."

Her phrasing is not at all characteristic. Eren can never be sure if it's part of the act or if she's just messing with him on purpose. Regardless of her aim, it's the ambiguity that unsettles him. "Why today?" he asks.

Historia shrugs off her shirt. "Why not?"

He scoffs. "What the fuck d'you mean, _why not_? I can't be—I can't be messing around with you, you're the _Queen_ , for Chrissake."

"You won't make a mistake," she says, with such a level of conviction in her voice he's half-inclined to believe her—but how can she know? "You _won't_ ," she says, "because I won't let it happen." Her breath ghosts his brow. "Put your arms behind you."

He isn't sure why he does it. Every part of him is telling him this is a fuckin' stupid idea, that he should get up and leave but something—something in her tone, in her eyes—it keeps him still, keeps him tense, poised to run without taking a single step. Suppose Armin was right, and she's been building up to this all along. But that's idiotic, she's kept her end of the bargain and he's—he's not thinking about this once he hears the _click_ of the buckle. His wrists are bound. He's trapped. What is he doing here?

"Remember," she says softly, small hands running up his forearms to his shoulders to his nape (he flinches at the touch), "you can't talk. And you can't touch me unless I tell you to."

He shuts his eyes, nodding vehemently. Historia kisses him on the crown of the head as though to reassure him. Then she steps back softly, stark-naked, and regards him the same way a large dog might set its sights upon a cat, or a rabbit, any suitable subject of prey. It'd be funny if he weren't at her mercy. She flops back upon the bed, never breaks eye contact.

"You know, I'm not sure what I want to do to you," she admits. Now that he's paying attention, she's a bit smaller than he thought she'd be without clothes, almost adolescent in stature but not exactly—there's a cunningness in her dark blue eyes, her jaw is too sharp, the swell of her breasts and hips slight but unmistakable—she's more like a woman in miniature. "I suppose I could get off, make you watch…but that's a little cruel, don't you think? I want you to enjoy yourself, because you've been rather well-behaved, these past few days."

He tells himself not to dwell on words, nor the connotation behind them. But he can't stop listening to her. She stands up, approaching. "Do you want me to suck you off?" she asks, like it's a perfectly normal question and not something obscene.

Eren doesn't even feel shocked or ashamed anymore, he's just…kind of annoyed. "You're fuckin' with me on purpose," he growls, tugging restlessly against his binds, "cut it out."

"I'm not fucking with you," she says. "Do you want me to or not?"

He bows his head, feeling much more like a prisoner than a guest. She cups his jaw, tilting his head up before moving in, too close for comfort. Now Historia is kissing him, braced on his shoulder. She runs her teeth along his lip and he gasps; she licks at his jaw, at his mouth. Before he can return the favour she's travelling down his throat, at his chest. Occasionally there's a hint of teeth but for the most part, she's weirdly tender.

Trailing back up to kiss his shoulder, she reaches down for his cock. He gasps, startled more than anything. Historia shushes him. She runs her thumb over the tip of him and that's enough of a distraction, if he closes his eyes. Soon enough he's rocking into her hand. He can't deny that feels good to be touched by someone else. He groans when she pulls back.

"You never answered my question," Historia says, and he knows she is waiting for him to decide.

"What—what if I hurt you," he says bluntly, trying to keep his voice stable.

Historia smiles brightly, and for a bizarre moment it's like Krista Lenz is back, chipper and conversational and pure—but the darkness in her eyes is what keeps him on his guard. "Oh, I don't think you will. Even if your hands were free, you're much too considerate for that."

 _What do you think you're playing at? I can't do shit_ , he thinks bitterly.

"Relax," she coaxes, can't hold her or push her away. Even if he were free to do so, he doesn't really want to do either of those things; but it's unnerving, having his hands tied by someone so small, given no freedom to choose. He shuts his eyes again.

Her mouth replaces her hand on his cock and suddenly, his concern doesn't matter much. In the back of his mind he's bewildered, because she isn't shying away at all and he thought she fancied Ymir and this, this doesn't seem like something she oughta have much experience with—unless he's missing something here, and there's some secret, sophisticated facet about how girls work, but… She starts little circles with her tongue and he stops thinking again.

When she pulls away he wishes he felt worse, left to the empty air, too warm for discomfort.

She moves in again and he can feel her breath on his skin. "Wait!" he grits, trying to stop her with his knees, because he might have accepted this on some level, but it's still— _immoral_. Yet she's not at all concerned, smirking the longer he gawks at her.

"I guess I could put this to you in another way," she muses, "either you're going to come inside me, or you don't come at all."

His breath chokes. Already he is able to fathom the probability of his death by firing squad, taken to a remote area in the outlands far beyond Wall Sina. "'Storia," he rasps.

She's grinning again. "I didn't mean it literally, you know. I just needed you to be ready first."

She's got something in her hand and he realises vaguely what she's about to do, and can't decide if he feels grateful or horrified at her foresight. She presses it to the tip of his dick. He gasps weakly, hating the sound of his own voice. She shushes him, works it on with a level of precision that makes him wonder if she's done this before—and immediately wish he had not considered the notion.

"Are you okay?" she asks. Eren's shoulders tense and fall. Chewing his lip as he nods, head bowed, chin to his chest. Historia gets to her feet and turns around, her legs against his thighs. He's about eye-level with the small of her back, so close he could kiss her if he wanted. For a moment he wonders if he will hurt her, she's so much smaller than he is—

 _Don't think about that now._

She reaches down and he sucks in a breath as she crouches slowly to meet him, and a little tremor passes through her body when they touch—there comes an urge to take her by the hips and press her down. She must be thinking the same thing, because as soon as they're lined up, she takes him all in one go and stiffens, gasping softly, slowing down without stopping. He feels guilty, almost. But she keeps going 'til her arse is flush against his stomach, squirming all-too pleasantly in his lap. Part of him wants to ask if she's all right, but he holds his tongue. He's not here to talk.

She exhales. Her hands drift back, curling on his knees, and she rises and falls, cautious, but growing confident, startling whenever he tries to meet her. He leans forth, panting into the crook of her neck, wishing he could pull her back onto him but—this isn't bad, it's not like she's moving slow or anything, so he can manage, he'll be fine….

"You're doing pretty well," she pants—and it's kind of unsettling how attuned she seems to be to his thought process—slowing down and tilting her head slightly to study him. Eren wishes she wouldn't say anything, even as the look in her eye goes right to his groin and he shuts his eyes. "Don't you want me?" she breathes, pressing her full-weight into his lap. His groan is broken. He does. He wants to lose himself in her. He wants to give in to the inevitable. "Oi. I asked you a question."

She pulls off entirely so he's left to the air again. Her fingers close around him and he hisses: "What the _fuck_."

"Answer me," she says, still holding him firm, but she's turned around to face him.

"Fuck—y-yeah," he manages. "Anything. Anything you want."

"Anything I want?" she echoes. Shifts her weight so he's angled squarely against her cunt. "I'm asking what _you_ want, Eren."

He tries to curse but can't find his voice. "I don't," he growls, voice strangled, " _know_ , fuck—the hell d'you want from me, d-d'you think I'm here for laughs?"

She smiles, letting the tip of him sink inward with a little sigh. He's vulnerable, and she knows it. Deja-vu, an unwelcome intrusion. He came here to _forget_ , not to _remember_ , nor to re-enact. She starts to take him in further, makes a little noise when he twitches, like she's satisfied.

"Hm," she sighs. "I dunno. But I do think you're being obstinate on purpose."

Eren doesn't know what he'll do if she unties him, or if she leaves him like this, now starting to consider the possibility of fucking her on the floor.

"But you have been rather obedient, I suppose."

He almost loses his nerve when she leans over, starts working at the buckle. His arms, once unbound, remain limp behind him, his hands still crossed at the wrist. He tries to look at her face but it's unnerving—he drags his eyes across her body, stares at his dick in her hand as he sinks into her cunt and feels—nothing, really. Physically, he's all-too aware of how she flutters around him, how the chair at his back digs into him in a way that's not yet uncomfortable. The heat in the room is cloying—he's burning up, wonders if it's infectious. She puts her hands on his shoulders and gazes down at him coolly. Her lips part, her body lithe and damp with sweat, arousal.

"Don't come yet," she murmurs, and starts to rock. He wants to kiss her skin, he wants to take her apart, just for the lack of intimacy between them.

He shudders. "Okay."

She seems to comprehend the shift in tone, stops moving, peering at him with something like doubt. Eren cannot meet her eyes; he screws his shut.

"Do something," he beseeches her. "Please."

The heat of her body and the air around them is no longer pleasant—it smothers him. When he hides in the dark it's easy to obscure—

* * *

 _—easy enough to have another lapse in control, imagine Annie's hand on his chest._

* * *

Oh, Christ. No. Don't think of that. But he can't help it. He can't stop. He hates himself. He hasn't been this disgusted with his choice in solidarity since he was—

* * *

— _let's not get ahead of ourselves_ —

* * *

— _so it goes._ Annie _is the one undulating naked in his lap, stroking herself at leisure. She's not a year older to the day he saw her last, panting softly. She stops moving when he does, because he really isn't sure what's happening, here. This has to be a dream, or a memory. But he doesn't remember this room—not stone, not of marble or wood, but some unidentifiable substance, not unlike the cavern where his father killed Frieda. Maybe he can try speaking to her, he thinks, and he opens his mouth—_

 _"What do you need?"_ _she murmurs, a lazy twist playing on her pale mouth._

 _Eren swallows hard. He thinks:_ okay, you're talking to me. This can't—be a memory, then. Or can it? _He's never heard of any past subject of the First King's influence encountering such a phenomenon. She's too beautiful to look at directly, and when she leans over to run a hand between them, he realises that she is very present_ _—once_ _she gets a better grip around him, he doesn't quite anticipate the veracity of sensation—his breath splutters out of him._

 _"Shit, Annie," he rasps, braced on his hands, curling to fists on empty air, "I…I really missed you."_

 _"I can tell."_

 _He can't help but laugh; there's something sweet about the words when them come from her. "You always get me like this," he mumbles, as she comes forth._

 _"Hm?"_

 _"Y'know what I mean," Eren says, "that's why you're doin' this."_

 _Annie hums a little. "I suppose you're right." She stops talking as he leans in, face-to-face. He has to reaffirm something, and reaches out to cup her face as she goes tense. "What are you doi—?"_

 _He kisses her just to check if she's as real as she sounds, looks. He isn't disappointed. "I don't mind waiting for you," he murmurs against the corner of her mouth._

 _Annie huffs through her nose, almost rueful when she speaks: "Good. I don't think I can stand it."_

 _"Did you miss me that much?" he teases, cradling her waist. She doesn't respond, just gazes fixedly at a point just above his right shoulder, detached. "Oi, Annie." He nudges her gently with his hips; her eyes flutter. "What do you need?" he echoes, forehead-to-forehead—_

* * *

—no, he's here, he's in the room—opens his eyes again. The chair is really starting to hurt. Historia shudders somewhere close to his ear, existing as a solid weight in his lap and across his chest, still undulating against his hips—

* * *

 _—quick to adapt, she reaches down to angle him against her and rocks, lazily; he curses at the lack of progress. Her teeth bare to a lazy grin. "What?" she teases, watching his hand curl over hers, "I can't want it as much as you do?"_

 _He half-laughs, half-groans as she lowers herself, sinking into her without preamble. He doesn't stop until they're flush to each other, trembling. Her legs press against his sides and her breath wavers against his shoulder, her eyes shut tight, lips parting. All is, more-or-less, still._

 _The little hitch in her breath when he takes her by the waist and pulls her close is nothing short of wonderful. She rises and falls, then does it again, a pleased little grunt working its way from the back of her throat. "Eren," she sighs, her mouth twisting to a hazy smile._

 _"I love you," is all he can think to tell her._

* * *

"Put me on the bed," she gasps, pressing rough, reckless little kisses over his jaw and shoulder, "now, Eren," and he's all-too-willing, he wants it just as bad as she does—

* * *

— _Annie goes tense. Her teeth bare to something like a grimace. "Don't," she says, her brow furrowed._

 _"I want you to know," he tells her hoarsely, "in-case I don't see you again."_

* * *

Eren hisses against her shoulder, on the bed, in the room. Historia grasps his face in both hands, her heels on the small of his back. "Harder," she pants, but he takes her slow, employing a faux-tenderness. She scowls, writhing against him in need. "Eren," she says, and her eyes and tone are dangerous.

He gets a hand in her long blonde hair and tugs; she gasps, not from pleasure. "Say it," he hisses in her ear. "Tell me what you want."

Her eyes flash in anger—his laughter is biting, and he thrusts hard just to make his point clear. She yelps, and then seethes: "You really think you're in contr—"

"Enough of that," he growls, because he's about fed-up with the ruse; no-one's really in control, here. "What do you want me to do to you?"

Something else darkens her eyes. It's not fear, or anger. He isn't sure _what_ it is, and he falters.

* * *

 _She's on her knees, halfway in his lap. One hand settles on her waist as he slides in again, brushing something inside of her that makes her hiss. Once he understands, he's arching away from her, leaning back slightly so he can better please her. The pseudo-world accommodates—there's a flat surface on which to brace himself._

 _"Mm. Hold up," she grunts, squeezing his thigh. She takes one hand and brings it to her breast. "Touch me?" she solicits to her hazy reflection and his, her voice hoarse, betraying a quiet eagerness she cannot mask._

 _Start up again. What he does now is a little too sweet to be fucking, but he won't hold back, either. She reaches out to brace herself in turn and he starts pressing her against it, cupping her breasts at his own discretion._

 _She gasps. Maybe it's cold. Maybe it's a little too much, at once. Come to a full stop with some difficulty, still inside, mumbling into her nape: "Does that hurt?"_

 _"No." She sounds incredulous._

 _"Oh," he says, then, softer, "are you cold, Ann?"_

 _Her body is fever-hot. He's not sure why he asked. She shivers in his grasp. "…no."_

 _Smirk. "D'you want more?"_

* * *

"I want you to take me like you would've done with her," Historia says easily, and his mind is buzzing, his body overheated; he wants to leave his head and fall out of love. He wants to leave this space. Historia winds into his groin, panting. "C'mon, now. You think you're the only one that can fantasise?"

Something snaps. He takes a hold of her body and buries himself flush, hard enough that she shrieks a little. He isn't sure what's driving him at this point other than anger and some idiotic, selfish desire to prove her right, do more than that. He'll do it. He'll give her what she asked for.

* * *

 _Annie sucks in a breath when he starts moving again. She reaches down, and he grasps that hand in his, letting her work between her legs as she bows her head to the wall in-front, groans into her arm, "E-Eren…"_

 _Laugh, huskily. Nothing will compare to hearing her say his name like that._

 _"You think I can get you off, first?" he offers, reckless. Annie shrugs. A breathless exclamation escapes from her mouth when he pins her. "How 'bout it?" he grits out. For a second she looks surprised. And then she grins, almost wolf-like, and there's the answer._

* * *

He supposes he might be hurting her, but her eyes are sharp and she's touching herself, so why stop?

* * *

 _His kisses now are hazy, down her nape and shoulder, and his hands roam. Fingers brush against her sternum, her breasts, catching her hips. He trails back up and gasps when she squeezes around him, just to keep him in-control. He curses, burying his face in her shoulder._

 _"Is that it?" she teases, but they ain't done yet._

* * *

He fucks her with a hand on the small of her back and in her hair, and somehow it's too quiet.

* * *

 _Pulling her away, back into his lap and she shudders her appreciation. He slides a hand between her legs and she gasps—_

* * *

—the only noise between them is skin and ragged breathing, the give-and-take of the mattress under their weight and he can't stand it can't stand it at all—a broken noise escapes him and he barely recognises it as his own voice, trembling—

* * *

 _—and they don't talk much after that, too preoccupied for conversation, but he gives her everything he's got until he cannot hold out—she doesn't complain, just ruts against him with a noise of amusement. He's dazed and drained as he falls back upon his knees, letting her sink in his lap as he comes to awareness, stroking her as she likes. Annie, pushing her head into his neck as she sucks in a frantic breath._ _"Please," is all he makes out._

 _Kissing her throat, he continues._ _S_ _he rocks and rocks and rocks until her hips stammer under his fingers; she gasps, mangling a cry before coming apart. He grins, feeling oddly sated as she arches against his chest. Once she's calmed down a bit, he remembers there was s'posed to be a point to all of this._

 _"Sorry," he says huskily, hooking his chin over her shoulder, "I couldn't keep it together."_

 _Annie smirks at him. His hand is idle between her thighs. He tries stroking her again, just to see what it'll do; it makes her gasp, fluttering around him._

 _"But I can make it up to you now," he murmurs_ _. Annie makes a little noise like she's been caught, squirming heatedly against his fingers, fighting for coherence._

 _They don't get very far before she's pressing her legs together._ _"Ooh,_ god _," she moans, halfway towards a giggle, "n-not yet, I can't."_

 _Eren relents, holding her close as he lets himself fall back to meet the ground without injury._

 _Silence, for a while, then: "Annie?"_

 _"Mm." She rolls over, sprawling across his chest, like a sleepy, warm weight. He's spent, as well._

 _"It's all right, if you don't—love me. I just wanted you to know that you're not alone."_

 _She affixes him with an expression he doesn't know how to describe. When he does nothing but stare at her she snorts, ropes her arm around his neck and kisses him again. "Don't be stupid," she grumbles, and he wonders if that's the closest she'll come to requiting any kind of attraction when—_

* * *

—Historia nudges him. "Are you awake?"

Is he disappointed? He isn't sure. Eren feels like all the tension, the resentment, has drained his energy and now he just wants to sleep. Funny, how normality doesn't come naturally to him anymore.

"Yeah," he says bluntly.

Historia doesn't respond. Just sprawls out, adjacent to him, panting softly, sheened with perspiration. He curls up beside her on the bed, but they do not embrace.

He's so numb, he realises, that he's learned to love it, this downward spiral into places that won't let him leave, the guilt of associating one's self with another for the sake of closure.

 _Annie's not coming back._

For a moment, Eren can breathe again. Then her hands are in his hair, and Historia's murmuring: "I didn't say we were done," and he slips back under.

* * *

 **IX.**

He is laying on her bed, his head on her thighs, wondering how long this agreement will last before she has him killed.

"I'm scared," he says. "That I will lose control, one day. That I'll hurt someone, or I'll—lose myself." He realises his voice is cracking but he doesn't try to hide it. He feels like a child, vulnerable and at the mercy of his own emotions. "And I can't let that happen," he professes to his hands. "I couldn't live with myself if I hurt someone."

"You don't have to be afraid," she murmurs, carding her fingers through his hair. "You are safe, here."

There's no way of knowing how long it'll last. Again, he thinks: _Annie's not coming back. But maybe that's all right._

* * *

— **FINIS?—**

* * *

a/n: I know this is marked as a one-shot, but I'm not totally sure I want to end things here. I might very well do another chapter if this gets enough of a following. But that'll take a while. As always, reviews are cherished. Critique is love. Please, don't be shy; I love to hear what you guys think!


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